


Reality Check

by henrywinter



Category: Designated Survivor (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Implied ~Sexy Times~, Making Out, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 13:36:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11945355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/henrywinter/pseuds/henrywinter
Summary: Two moments in Emily and Aaron's life together.Alternatively summarised as, "Plot? Who needs plot when you have badly written domestic Emron?"





	Reality Check

It’s the ordinary moments in an extraordinary life that make you realise how lucky you are, Aaron has come to realise. He absentmindedly runs his fingers though Emily’s hair whilst his laptop’s battery slowly drains away on his lap in front of him. Emily’s still asleep, so he makes as little noise as possible. He tries not to wake her, when he’s working early like this.

It _is_ an extraordinary life, Aaron supposes, but it’s never felt like that to him. His career progressions between working for a relatively unknown senator and, well, being the Chief of Staff for the President of the United States weren’t ever enough of a shock for him to stop and think _wow, hey, maybe this isn’t that ordinary after all._

In fact, he never thought his life was extraordinary until he met Emily.

Their unspoken rivalry for the position of Kirkman’s Chief of Staff was the first time she became a part of his life. That could all so easily have gone all so wrong – one hostile comment too far and they wouldn’t be in their current positions, in more ways than one.

Emily turns over in her sleep to face towards him and Aaron’s eyes glance over her, a brief smile flickering across his face before his glance turns to the alarm clock on their beside table. It’s only half five, and he groans internally a little bit. It looks like it’ll be another day on less than three hours of sleep and more than three cups of coffee. Tiring, his work is, and mostly unrecognised by the general American public – but it would take a hell of a lot more than underappreciation for him to give it up. He loves his boss; he loves his totally amazing work partner and girlfriend and Seth. He’s pretty cool, too.

Aaron turns his attention back to the document in front of him. He’s read the same sentence five times, something about _policy withdrawals with recognition to the opposing lobbyists,_ but he’s still lost for any kind of meaning. The dark letters blur in front of him and he wishes he had reading glasses.

“You work too hard.”  
“That’s my job,” Aaron answers, and shuts his laptop with a bang.  
“How long have you been up?” Emily reaches out for his hand and sits up next to him.  
“Not long. Did I wake you?”  
“No, you’re fine.”

Emily yawns and reaches out for her phone with her free hand. She squints at the home screen notifications and says, “Huh. You get that email from Seth too? Early for him to send us something.”  
“Yeah. Worry about it later, we’re not even at the White House yet.”  
“Alright.” She lies back down and abandons the pillow to rest her head in Aaron’s lap.

Another thing Aaron has come to realise is how easily Emily fits into his life, his routine. It’s natural. Perfect.

Aaron sighs and runs his hand up and down Emily’s arm. Their alarm is set to go off in another twenty minutes and he indulgingly contemplates shutting it off and going back to sleep. He has a duty but – sometimes? Sometimes he’d rather just be here at home, with Emily.

He berates himself for even thinking that, however true it may be, and sighs. His laptop needs charging before the day ahead so he swings his legs out of bed and stands up, looking around for the charger he always seems to misplace.

“Stay in bed,” he tells Emily, “Do you want some coffee?”  
“God bless you,” comes the muffled reply from under the duvet.

 

\------

  
It’s dark when they get home, and later than usual. Work’s been a nightmare recently, with President Kirkman relying on Emily and Aaron to secure the votes for an upcoming bill. It’s something complicated, about changing the requirements for immigration applications. Half the Republicans won’t return their calls or even state a position, and the Democrats and Independents are barely more cooperative.

Emily’s tired. It’s been one hell of a day. Not half as tired as Aaron looks, though.  
“When was the last time you slept properly?” she asks, knowing it’s _at least_ been several weeks.  
Aaron manages a half-smile. “Sleep’s a poor substitute for coffee, right?”  
“ _No._ Other way around. _”_ She whacks him gently on the shoulder as he collapses on the sofa and closes his eyes. “Don’t fall asleep here. I’ll make you something.”

Emily’s shoes tap softly across the wooden tiles, illuminated only by the outside streetlights. Reaching out aimlessly with her right hand and untying her ponytail with her left, she manages to find the kitchen light switch and squints under the sudden brightness. They’re out of instant coffee, she notes. Aaron won’t be happy come tomorrow morning.

With two mugs of streaming hot chocolate in her hands, Emily re-enters the living room and flops down next to Aaron, the cups placed on the coffee table in front of them.

“Come here,” he says, and pulls her onto his lap. Emily wraps her arms around him and rests her head on his shoulder, before lifting one hand to cup his face.  
“Seriously,” she tells him, “you look exhausted.”               
“Hey, I’m not bad for three hours sleep.”  
  
He kisses her then, slow then clumsy like the first time _she_ kissed _him_ in the White House all those months ago. Emily pulls him closer to her by his tie and pushes her other hand through his gelled hair, hating the professionality he insists on that deprives her of his natural curls. It’s desperate and messy, and everything she longs for when they’re not together like this. A soft moan emerges from his lips before Emily cuts him off by crashing their lips together again. Fingertips ghost tauntingly across her hips, up her chest and her breath catches as Aaron frantically kisses his way down her jawline and neck. “Aaron,” she whispers. “Oh God, Aaron, _please.”_  
  


\------

  
The hot chocolate turns cold, forgotten.

**Author's Note:**

> this was written entirely between the hours of 1 and 5 am and it is completely unedited and i regret everything except falling in love with this beautiful ship


End file.
